Sergey A.'s "Mordum Plagum" (2021) is a frenzied, seven-minute plunge into a nightmare where logic dissolves and terror wears the mask of a plague doctor. Shot through a lens drenched in neon-green delirium, this experimental short is less a story and more a sensory virus-a corrosive blend of acid aesthetics and primal fear that lingers long after its mercifully brief runtime.
The film's grotesque beauty lies in its hyper-stylized chaos. Every frame is soaked in a poisonous green palette, evoking rot, sickness, and digital decay. Faces-often shot in claustrophobic close-ups-are distorted by fisheye lenses and glitch effects, turning human features into grotesque caricatures. The three plague doctors, their beaked masks flickering in and out of focus, loom like relics from a medieval apocalypse, their presence amplified by erratic cuts and disorienting angles. Sergey A. Weaponizes simplicity, using minimal sets and maximal distortion to create a world that feels both ancient and unnervingly digital.
A soundtrack of dissonant whispers, metallic screeches, and sub-bass throbs heightens the unease. Moments of near-silence-a choked breath, the creak of a door-are shattered by bursts of noise that jolt like electric shocks. The audio mirrors the film's visual schizophrenia, refusing to let the viewer settle into rhythm or comfort.
Narrative coherence is sacrificed at the altar of atmosphere. A nameless protagonist wanders a labyrinthine non-space, pursued by the plague doctors. There's no explanation, no motivation-only the visceral urgency of flight. The doctors themselves are less characters than forces of nature, symbols of inevitability (death? Disease? Digital oblivion?) that exist to hunt, not reason. Sergey A. Leans into ambiguity, inviting viewers to project their own fears onto the film's skeletal structure.
Released in 2021, "Mordum Plagum" feels like a subconscious response to COVID-era anxieties. The plague doctors-historically tied to epidemics-become avatars of modern dread, their faceless menace echoing our collective trauma of invisible threats. The green-tinted visuals evoke quarantine's sterile horrors, while the protagonist's trapped desperation mirrors the claustrophobia of lockdowns. Yet the film transcends literalism, morphing into a universal allegory of pursuit and helplessness.
This is experimental horror at its most uncompromising. Fans of "Videodrome"'s body horror or the abstract terror of "Begotten" will appreciate Sergey A.'s refusal to placate. The short runtime is a masterstroke: it sustains intensity without exhausting the viewer, leaving a scar rather than a wound. The plague doctors' design-stripped of context, pure in their menace-is iconic in its simplicity.
Casual viewers will dismiss "Mordum Plagum" as pretentious noise. Its lack of narrative, combined with sensory overload, risks alienating even adventurous audiences. The DIY effects-while charmingly crude-occasionally undermine the atmosphere, reminding us this is a digital artifact, not a true hallucination.
"Mordum Plagum" is a poison-tipped dart aimed at the psyche. It won't entertain you-it will "infest" you. Sergey A. Crafts a queasy, unforgettable mood piece that proves horror thrives in abstraction. Approach it as you would a hallucinogen: with caution, curiosity, and a strong stomach.
